Thin Ice of a New Day
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Directly following the events in Jus In Bello, the Winchesters find themselves stuck in a small Minnesota town in a blizzard, drawn into a hunt they are not prepared for.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Directly following the events in Jus In Bello, the Winchesters find themselves stuck in a small Minnesota town during

**Summary: Directly following the events in Jus In Bello, the Winchesters find themselves stuck in a small Minnesota town during a blizzard, drawn into a hunt they are not prepared for.**

**This started as a simple tag for episode 3.12 JIB, and kind of rambled on from there. Mostly it's me taking out my frustrations about all the FRIGGIN' SNOW that has pounded the Midwest this year. I thought it would be nice to share it with our favorite demon hunters. I'm sure the boys appreciated it. **

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

Sam shifted his focus to the threadbare brown carpet, the silence in the room oppressive to say the least. Ruby's parting words rang in his ears, his head formulating arguments to her accusations while his heart ached in acceptance of the blame. He could hear the harsh breathing of his brother and knew without looking that Dean had been hit hard by her rant as well.

His attention remained on the floor as Dean rose from the opposite bed and moved about the room. As the silence began to grate on his nerves, Sam shifted his eyes to his brother just in time to see the older man lash an arm out across the desk, sending the lamp situated there crashing into the opposite wall.

"Damn."

Sam held his breath, his sight taking in the broken shards of the light fixture that now lay shattered on the floor before returning to his brother's hunched form. Dean leaned against the desk, his left arm pulled in tight against his body, his eyes squeezed shut against obvious pain.

"Dean…"

Sam started to rise, but a shake of his brother's head kept him from completing the move. Sam could only wait as Dean slowly straightened and made his way back across the room to his bed. Without a word, he lowered himself carefully onto the mattress and pulled his legs up, resting his injured arm against his stomach and throwing the other across his eyes.

Sam idly wondered if his brother was trying to block out the world or hide himself from it.

He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He knew he should probably take a look at his brother's bullet wound, but Dean's current position made it clear the older man was not in the mood for any kind of concern. Leaning forward, Sam placed his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "This is all so messed up," he mumbled.

Dean's laugh held no humor.

"Ya think?" Dean didn't bother to remove his arm from across his eyes. "We screwed up."

Sam shook his head, hating the defeat in his brother's voice. "Dean, we tried. We did everything we could –"

"Fat lot of good that did, Sammy. They all died anyway. Hendrickson, Nancy…"

Sam sighed, his shoulders slumped. "Dean. Don't do this." It was one thing to admit that their good intentions may have backfired, it was another to heap more blame on their shoulders in a fight where they were struggling just to stay above water.

Dean's head slowly moved back and forth under the shield of his arm. "She was right. We didn't help at all."

Sam stared at his brother. He'd never seen Dean give up. Even when Dad had dragged them around the country, never settling into anything resembling a home, Dean had kept the family together. He had kept them strong enough to continue the quest. But lately, Sam had to admit, this war, the costs had begun to take their toll on his larger than life big brother. Dean's cracks were becoming more and more obvious and his soul was becoming more and more weary. Throughout their entire lives, even when things seemed insurmountable, Sam could never remember hearing his brother sound so… small.

Dean had reacted in outrage when Ruby wanted to sacrifice Nancy for the greater good.  
He had made it very clear that they would find another way, that they were not going to start picking and choosing who got to live and who was to be sacrificed in this hellish war they'd found themselves in.

At first Sam had been torn. He'd even been tempted to listen to Ruby, to let her kill the young virgin if it meant saving the rest… saving Dean. But Dean's voice had penetrated his confusion and showed him that they couldn't start ignoring their own humanity for the sake of winning. Like Dean said, if that's how you win a war, he didn't want to win. If that happened – if they allowed it to happen -- they'd already lost.

"No, Dean. She's wrong." Sam's voice was soft, but it held conviction. "Ruby was wrong."

Dean lowered his arm and stared in confusion at his brother. "How can you say that?" He pushed himself up onto the edge of the bed and leaned forward, his eyes locked onto his brother's. "I don't remember you exactly telling the bitch 'no deal' back there, dude."

Sam nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor as he felt a flush of shame color his face. "I know. I just…" He shrugged. "I just didn't know what else to do." He returned his gaze back to his brother. "But you did."

"Yeah. Great plan. They're all dead, Sam. All of them. I blew it. I failed."

The sudden slump of Dean's shoulders nearly broke Sam's heart. "No. We didn't fail. You were right." Sam waited until the older hunter raised his head, his eyes searching for a glimmer of truth in the statement. "We can't start sacrificing innocent lives. We can't play some kind of numbers game. It's our job to protect people."

Dean nodded, a sad smile on his face. "Yeah," he breathed. "We're doing such a bang-up job so far, huh?"

Sam leaned forward, catching his brother's eyes and holding them. "Dean, we have to put the blame where it belongs. On this Lilith. The demons. We saved those people. _You_ saved those people."

Dean searched his brother's eyes and allowed himself to believe that maybe what Sam was saying was the truth. "Yeah, maybe. Doesn't make me feel any better, though."

Sam returned his sad grin. "Me either."

The muffled tone of Dean's phone sounded from his pocket and he leaned as he used his good arm to dig into his jeans and retrieve the device.

"Yeah?"

"_Dean? You boys alright?"_

Dean grinned at the concern in the older hunter's voice. "Hey, Bobby." He quickly glanced at his brother, seeing his grin mirrored at the mention of their old friend's name. "We've been better," he replied honestly.

"_I just saw a report on the news. Some kind of gas explosion. Wouldn't've paid it no mind except it mentioned that Fed that's been on your tail. Hendrickson. You and Sam weren't involved in any of that, were ya?"_

Dean shook his head even though the man on the other end of the line couldn't see the motion. "Nah. Hendricksn had already let us go."

"_Let you go? Then you were there?"_

Dean took a deep breath and quickly explained what had happened.

"_You said the demons came right at you?"_

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. It's like they were gunning for us, Bobby. Like they had some kind of contract on us or something."

"_That don't sound right."_

Dean snorted in agreement. "Tell me about it. And on top of every thing, this Lilith bitch apparently has the hots for Samantha here. I don't have a friggin' clue what's going on, but whatever it is, it's way the hell over my head."

"_Well I've got something that may be a bit more along your pay grade."_

"Bobby, I'm not sure –"

"_I've got a lead on Bela Talbot."_

Dean's head shot up and he stared hard at his brother. "You found the Colt?"

"_Maybe. After we left Pittsburgh, I put out some feelers. A friend contacted me this morning and said that Bela was in Minneapolis."_

"What's she doing there?"

"_Hell if I know. But this guy is trustworthy. If he says it's her, it's her. You and Sam up to checking it out?"_

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, knowing that Sam had been able to follow the conversation despite only hearing one side. At a nod from his brother, Dean answered.

"Yeah, Bobby. We'll call you when we find something."

The snow hadn't begun to come down hard until they were across the North Dakota border. They had habitually stayed off the major interstates, taking the back highways as a precaution against any chance sightings by the authorities. At the moment, Sam was pretty sure that was a really, really stupid idea.

There was no one he trusted more behind the wheel of a car than his brother, but the winter storm that was pummeling the Midwest was currently dropping about a ton of wet, slippery snow on top of an already frozen sheet of ice that made driving conditions hazardous at best. They hadn't run across another car for the last half hour, most of the locals obviously having better sense than to try and drive in the current mess that was Minnesota Highway 10.

Dean had been forced to use both hands on the wheel, his brow creased as the pain from his wounded shoulder took a back seat to his need to keep the big Chevy on what could still be considered a road. As the Impala fishtailed for the hundredth time on the slippery asphalt, Sam held his breath as his brother decreased their speed again until the vehicle was barely crawling along through the blowing drifts.

The wind had picked up as the sun began to set, causing the almost horizontal fall of the heavy white flakes to become a mesmerizing spectacle reflecting in the headlights of the classic car.

"Dean," Sam kept his voice level, not wanting to disturb his brother's concentration. "Maybe we should just find a motel and wait this out."

Dean didn't take his gaze from the road, his voice clipped as he answered. "Great idea, Sammy. Gonna wave our magic wand and make one appear any time soon?"

Sam held his tongue, knowing Dean's frustration was directed more at the situation than him… at least he hoped so.

The narrowing field of vision obscured a sharp turn in the road, forcing Dean to wrench the wheel to the right. The back end of the heavy car slid across the snow and ice covered road as Dean fought to right her. Sam gasped a breath, his hand flying out to brace himself against the dashboard as he felt the car begin to slide out of control. Before Dean could compensate for the slide, the Impala spun completely around, jarring both occupants as it plowed through the drifts accumulating along the edge of the highway, tipping precariously towards the driver's side as it came to rest half buried in the ditch.

Sam swallowed hard, his heart thudding in his chest, his breath loud in the confined space of the car as the engine stalled and the howl of the wind rocked the Impala on its haphazard perch. A quick look showed that they were stuck, trunk down in a three-foot ditch, the car listing slightly to the left. There was no way in hell they were going to be able to drive the heavy car out of it's current position. It would take a tow truck with heavy chains to get the Chevy back onto the road.

Taking stock, he drew a deep breath, noting that outside of a slight tingle brought on by the euphoric reaction to the shock of the crash, he was unharmed. The low moan from his left told him his brother wasn't quite as lucky.

"Dean?"

The older hunter was pushed up against the driver's side door, his right hand gripping his left shoulder, his eyes screwed tightly closed against obvious pain.

"Hey, Dean," Sam slid across the slightly inclined seat, careful not to pin his brother and cause any further damage. "Man, you okay?"

"I freakin' hate snow."

Sam let out a relieved chuckle at the typically Dean response. "I guess that skiing weekend in Vermont is gonna have to wait then, huh?"

Dean finally lifted his head, giving his brother a weak glare. "Skiiing is for geeks who like to wear ugly sweaters, dude."

Sam shook his head in exasperation. "Are you okay?"

Dean leaned his head back against the window. "Yeah. Just bashed my shoulder against the door during our little Disney on Ice moment. I'm okay."

From the grunt of pain coming from his brother as he tried to shift away from the door, Sam didn't take much stock in Dean's idea of 'okay', but that was kind of par for the course when it came to the older hunter. As far as Dean was concerned, if he was breathing, he was okay. Sam had long ago realized that his job entailed the simple act of keeping his brother breathing. Everything else they could deal with.

He hoped.

Although the Impala was tilted into the ditch, Sam was able to wrestle the passenger door open, wedging it with his body as he pulled himself up and out. Sinking almost to his knees in the snow, he turned and held out a hand to his brother. Without the use of his injured left arm, Dean was forced to turn and push with his legs against the door, allowing Sam to wrap an arm around his waist and awkwardly hoist him up and out of the passenger door. Once they both got their feet under them, they were able to trudge through the still falling snow and climb back to the road.

"I hate just leaving her there," Dean said softly, his eyes squinting through the flying snow at the dark shape of the Impala. The snow was quickly covering her in a blanket of white and Sam hoped they would actually be able to find the car once the storm passed.

"It'll be okay, Dean. We'll find a tow truck in the next town and get her back on the road first thing in the morning."

Dean nodded, tucking his injured arm close to his body and pulling the collar of his coat closed with his other hand. "And just how far is this town exactly?"

Sam zipped his own jacket and shoved his hands into his pockets as he shrugged and squinted into the darkness. "If I read the map right, there should be a town called Perham about two or three miles east. If we stay on the highway, we should see a turn off."

"Great," Dean mumbled as he started to trudge east along the snow-covered road. "Why couldn't that bitch have been spotted in Arizona. Who the hell could possibly want to be in Minnesota?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thin Ice of a New Day

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

**Chapter 2**

As darkness fell, it had become harder to determine where the road ended and the ditch began, both brothers nearly falling into the deep snow along the sides on more than one occasion. Dean had taken to shuffling his feet through the growing drifts, explaining that it was an easy way to make sure they were still walking along the pavement. Sam suspected that the pain from his brother's bullet wound coupled with the physical exertion necessary to trudge through the heavy, wet snow was taking its toll on the older man, but as long as Dean stayed on his feet, Sam would keep his suspicions to himself.

The shuffling sounds of their steps along with an occasional cough from Dean were the only sounds besides the soft whistling of the wind. It seemed that the falling snow managed to blanket the normal sounds of nature, causing an unnatural hush to fall along with the large, wet flakes. The eerie quiet was making Sam wonder if there was another soul alive on the planet.

They hadn't seen or heard the sounds of cars or civilization since leaving the Impala. They had stuck to the road – thanks to Dean's shuffle – but had yet to come upon any sign of Perham. Sam was beginning to think he had read the map wrong when a large dark shadow appeared in the dimness. Quickly making his way to the shadow, Sam was relieved to find the snow covered road sign. Reaching a cold hand up to brush the collected snow away, he was barely able to make out the white lettering in the darkness.

"It's about freakin' time."

Sam turned to look at his brother, his grin fading as he took in the older man's hunched stance. The wind had died down a bit, but the snow had managed to soak their jackets and jeans leaving both men cold and shivering. It had occurred to Sam that they had left their bags back in the Impala, but he figured they could do without a change of clothes for one night. It was hard enough traipsing through the weather without the added burden of the heavy duffle bags, and he was pretty sure his brother was in no condition to carry anything other than himself at this point. Sam could make out Dean's tremors through the darkness and knew they weren't entirely due to the freezing temperature.

"Perham is less than a mile from here." Sam informed his brother, taking in the older man's haggard appearance with concern. "How's the shoulder?"

Dean rubbed a hand across his face. "Numb," he replied honestly. "Of course I can't feel my friggin' feet either. Who the hell would want to live in this shit?"

Sam chuckled, more than relieved to hear his brother bitching about the lovely Minnesota weather. "I'm sure it has its good points. It's probably beautiful most of the time."

"Yeah, if you're an Eskimo or a polar bear. Let's –"

A scream tore through the silence, echoing across the darkness. The brothers exchanged a surprised glance, both quickly pulling weapons, turning to get their bearings.

"This way," Sam called as the scream faded. He took off through the ditch, disappearing into a copse of snow covered pine trees about ten yards from the side of the road. The trees ended abruptly into a snow covered clearing that was free of the bite of the frigid wind.

"Sammy!" Sam turned slightly, waiting as his brother cleared the trees and spotted him, trudging through the shin high snow that blanketed the ground. "What the hell, dude?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply when another scream, this one much closer pierced the night. Both men turned, shoulder to shoulder as their eyes roamed across the small clearing.

"Dean." Sam's whisper caught the older man's attention and he let his eyes follow the slight tilt of his brother's head.

Across the clearing, bathed in what looked like moonlight, stood two figures. Dean blinked, realizing that the blowing snow they had been fighting for the last few hours was not swirling here beyond the trees. He couldn't be sure, but the way his hairs were standing up on the back of his neck made him believe the change in the weather had very little to do with whatever windbreak the copse of pine trees provided.

The two beings, a man and a woman, didn't seem to take notice of the new arrivals. They stood, facing each other in the clearing. The man was middle aged with thinning black hair. He was dressed only in a pair of flannel pajamas, which was oddly inappropriate for the freezing weather. Dean quickly realized that it was the woman that was giving him the familiar itch in the back if his brain.

She was not natural. Her light hair blew freely in the non-existent wind, the robes of her white robe fluttering against the crystal snow. As the brother's watched, the man fell to his knees at the woman's light touch to his chest. The man's choked scream was abruptly silenced and the woman suddenly seemed to glow as he slumped to the ground.

"Hey!"

Dean's voice forced the woman to turn, her piercing blue eyes, glowing across the distance. Before either hunter could react, both ghostly figures faded into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but the howl of the wind and the familiar swirl of the falling snow.

It had taken them another thirty minutes in the mind-numbing cold before they saw the outskirts of Perham. They stomped into the first motel they saw, shaking the snow from their hair and shoulders and trying not to leave wet tracks all over the small but well-kept lobby.

Sam worked his magic at the counter with the older couple working the check-in desk while Dean stayed back and tried his best not to look too pathetic. His failure became obvious when the grandmotherly woman took one look at him, tsked something along the lines of 'poor boy' and thrust a stack of extra towels and blankets at Sam.

Ever the gentlemen, Sam thanked her sincerely before turning to roll his eyes at his brother who stood hunched in the doorway looking like a stiff breeze would knock him flat on his ass.

Which was probably pretty close to the truth.

Once inside the well used, but remarkably clean room, Sam insisted his brother take a hot shower to warm up, knowing the cold trek had probably zapped what little strength the already wounded man had been able to muster after their escape from Colorado. Sam was exhausted himself from the long, freezing walk to town and could only imagine how much more difficult it would be with the added weight of a bullet wound to further enhance the journey.

He could tell by the time Dean had emerged from the shower, half dressed and sluggish that his brother had hit the end of his endurance. Sam quickly and efficiently re-bandaged the wounded shoulder then waited until Dean had lowered himself onto the mattress, his eyes closed and asleep only moments after hitting the pillow.

After making sure his brother was comfortable, Sam arranged the damp shirts around the room to dry and pulled off his own clothes, slipping quietly into the small bathroom for his own warm up. As he stood, allowing the hot water to thaw his frozen fingers and toes, he let his mind wander back to the scene in the clearing.

He hadn't really been able to see the two beings clearly, getting only a vague view of the man while his eyes had been drawn to the glowing woman.

It had to have been a spirit.

Sam was sure of that, but what kind of spirit he had no idea. And, even though he knew his brother would want to stop and investigate, he steeled himself to the fact that they needed to move on as soon as possible. Dean's time was running out and Sam was somehow sure that they needed the Colt if they were going to have a chance to save him. Bela wasn't one to stay still long enough to be tracked easily and they couldn't afford to waste any time getting to Minneapolis.

As the water began to grow cooler, Sam reluctantly shut the flow off and toweled off, slipping into his boxers. As he exited the bathroom, he moved across the room to the space between the beds, pleased to see Dean still asleep. He held a hand to his brother's forehead, relieved to find no sign of fever. At least they had managed to dodge that bullet.

Sam sat back on the opposite bed and sighed as his own weariness finally caught up with him. Stifling a yawn, he lowered himself to the pillows and closed his eyes, letting the distant howl of the wind carry him away.

Dean bolted awake, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar room through the darkness. As the disorientation began to dissipate, he could feel the tightness in his chest and gasped in a breath. His head began to throb in time with his chest, his shoulder suddenly joining in on the beat as he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on simply breathing in and out.

Swallowing a groan, he shifted his head to the left, thankful to see Sam in the dim light, his chest rising and falling slowly in sleep.

Slowly rolling his head back, he squinted through the darkness at the ceiling, the ache in his chest beginning to recede as he forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths. After a few minutes, his racing heart had slowed and the tightness in his chest was gone.

As soon as the physical effects of what he could only assume was a nightmare lessened, Dean took a deep breath and tried to recall what exactly it was that had forced him awake to begin with. He had no doubt that something within his hypersensitive imagination had been responsible for his current state, but, fir the life of him, he had no memory of the dream.

Which was weird. He always remembered his dreams. Especially the ones that scared the crap out of him at… he glanced at the bedside clock… 3:24 am..

Damn.

He raised a hand to his face, not surprised to feel a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

Must have been one hell of a dream, he told himself. Judging from his reaction, maybe it was better he didn't remember exactly what his subconscious had been trying to show him.

He took another deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose as he tried to clear his mind and force his exhausted body to relax. He closed his eyes, slumber finally taking him just as the first tendrils of dawn began to filter through the sliver of a gap between the heavy curtains.

The drone of an engine is what finally pulled Sam from slumber. Relishing the warmth of the comforter, he pulled it tighter around him as his mind began to make sense of the sounds beginning to filter into his still weary brain.

The memory of the winter storm and their subsequent journey through it brought a shiver to his body, and he quickly recognized the start and stop of the motor outside their room as a large pickup, and the grating scraping noise as the blade used as the truck plowed the small parking lot.

Hopefully that meant the snow had stopped falling.

With one last sigh of contentment, Sam pushed the blankets back and slowly crawled out of the bed, rubbing a hand down his face as he shuffled to the window. He pulled back the curtain, wincing as the brightness of the snow-covered landscape seared his vision. Blinking back the sudden tears the bright whiteness brought to his eyes, Sam squinted enough to make out a dark pick-up, pushing a mound of snow across the parking lot into a growing heap at the far end.

It looked as if they'd already plowed at least half of the lot, and Sam was ironically grateful the Impala was not in the lot, knowing how anxious the proximity of the plow to his baby would make his brother.

At the sound of the low moan coming from behind him, Sam allowed the curtain to fall back into place, effectively throwing the room back into it's previous state of semi-darkness. Turning, he crossed back to the beds and perched on the edge of Dean's.

"Hey," he called to the relatively brother-shaped lump curled underneath the comforter. "You awake?"

"No," came the muffled grumble response.

Sam chuckled. "It looks like it stopped snowing. Hopefully, there's a garage nearby that'll be able to tow the Impala out of that ditch your questionable driving skills managed to put it in."

Dean's tousled head appeared from beneath the blanket, one green eye glaring at Sam. "My questionable driving skills probably saved your ass from being wrapped around a very large tree, dude."

Sam grinned, but nodded in agreement. He noticed the dark circles under his brother's eyes and frowned with concern. Experience told him that simply asking his brother how he felt would elicit a quick response of 'I'm fine, Sam,' so he decided to wade in cautiously. "How's the shoulder?"

"Awesome."

"You want to take a shower before I change the bandage?"

Dean yawned as he shook his head in response. "Nah." He pushed himself up against the headboard, wincing as the back of his shoulder made contact with the wood. "I'm good," he added quickly before Sam could comment. "Go get ready and then we'll deal with it. I'd rather have you awake and alert before you start playing doctor."

"In your dreams," Sam mumbled as he pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the demented way his brother's eyebrows were dancing.

Ten minutes later, Sam felt vaguely human again. The chill of last night's trek was completely gone and the shower had managed to almost eliminate the muscle soreness that had seeped in as a result of their battle with the demons.

He was glad that Dean hadn't mentioned anything about what they had seen last night in the clearing. Hopefully, the older hunter understood how important their quest to find the Colt was and wouldn't put up any resistance to Sam's plan to head out as soon as they could get the car towed. Quickly dressing in the now dry layers of clothing, Sam opened the door, surprised to find his brother perched on the end of the bed in just his jeans, the T.V. remote in his right hand, rubbing slowly against the bicep of his left. Dean's attention seemed to be glued to the small color television bolted onto the dresser directly across from the bed.

"You ready to take care of that shoulder?" Sam asked as he toweled off the water from his hair. When no answer was received, Sam looked up, frowning at his brother's unresponsiveness. "Dean?"

"Huh?" The older man turned his head slightly, but quickly focused his attention back on the television.

"You okay?"

Dean waved the hand that held the remote in his brother's general direction. "Yeah, come here. Check this out."

Sam shuffled around his bed and dropped onto the other next to his brother. "What?"

Dean just pointed the remote at the screen and pushed the volume up.

Sam's attention was drawn to the morning news anchor who was finishing a story on a local businessman who was found dead in his home earlier that morning. He shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"You don't recognize that guy?"

Sam took another look at the photo floating to the left of the anchorman's head. "No. Should I?"

Dean flicked the remote as the newsman continued onto another story, effectively muting the tinny sound of the small television. He turned toward his brother, pulling one leg up onto the edge of the bed. "That was the guy we saw last night, dude."

Sam frowned, drawing back a bit at his brother's statement. "The report said that guy died at home, Dean. Not in some clearing a mile out of town."

"I know." Dean tossed the remote onto the bed and grabbed his t-shirt. "But I swear that was the guy, Sam."

The younger man stood and quickly snatched the shirt from his brother, pointing toward the small chair shoved under the wooden desk. "Sit," he ordered, slightly shocked when Dean complied.

"Come on, Sam," Dean continued as Sam unwound the tape from the bulky bandage from his shoulder and inspected the healing bullet wound. "You saw the same thing I did. It was a spirit, or a ghost, or something supernatural. And now the guy is dead. You know we have to check this out."

Sam sighed as he replaced the gauze pad against the exit wound smoothing the tape back into place. "Even if it was the same guy, Dean. We've got something more important to take care of right now. We've got to get the Impala, we've got to get some supplies to take care of your shoulder. We've got a lead on Bela-"

"Which may or may not be accurate." Dean pointed out.

Sam nodded. "But, it's the first lead we've had and we really need to find that gun." He quickly inspected the gauze taped against the smaller entry wound, relieved to see no blood or discharge, and stepped back, holding up a hand to cut off his brother's reply. "Look, I know how you feel, Dean. But finding that gun is our only leverage against these demons. And I have a feeling we're gonna need it to get you out of this deal." He grabbed length of tape he'd just removed and began to wrap it securely around his brother's shoulder.

"Maybe," Dean acknowledged as his brother finished securing the dressings. "But we can't just ignore this, Sam." He picked up the discarded t-shirt and pulled it on, wincing as the wound pulled. "It's what we do, Sammy. You know," he grinned. "Saving people, hunting things. The family business."

He pulled his arm to his stomach and turned to face his brother. "Something is weird here, Sam – our kind of weird. We have to at least check it out."

"Dean…"

"I know, Sammy. I get it." Dean nodded slowly and swallowed, his gaze finding his brother's. "Time's running out." He shrugged, a sad smile lifting one side of his mouth. "But we've got our priorities."

"They've changed."

"No, Sam. They haven't."

Dean waited until he saw the capitulation on his brother's face before slapping him on the arm and grinning in full. "Besides, man. Have you taken a look outside? There's like a ton of snow out there. Unless Bela's traded in that little sports car for a four-by-four or a snowmobile, I don't think she's going anywhere."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Thin Ice of a New Day

_Boy you guys don't miss a thing! As for the Magically Reappearing Luggage (MRL), it is a prototype supernatural phenomenon that I'm am pitching to all major airlines. The insane amount of money I will make from this endeavor will be channeled into underwriting all production costs for our show so it can run indefinitely… as well as for gas for the Impala and, of course, snacks. Or you could just chalk it up to one huge blonde moment. Whichever you prefer._

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

**Chapter 3**

Andy's Pit Stop was located less than a block from the motel. The gas station was small, and offered very little in the way of snacks and drinks, but had two very busy tow trucks that were out on retrievals already. The grease covered guy behind the counter had assured them that they would be able to get to the Impala sometime that afternoon, and had taken Dean's cell number with a promise to call as soon as the trucks came back from their initial runs and could make a run out to Highway 10.

The brothers thanked the mechanic and, following his directions to the nearest place for a decent breakfast, they trudged back into the snow, neither speaking until they'd settled into a booth in the diner two blocks over and wrapped their cold hands around mugs of steaming black coffee.

"What can I get you boys?"

Sam smiled at the plump, dark haired waitress. "Could I get a short stack and some hash browns?"

The waitress nodded and scribbled the order on her notepad before turning to Dean. "And you, honey?"

"Steak and eggs, Darla" Dean replied, his eyes glancing at the name tag pinned over the woman's ample bosom. "Medium rare."

Darla gathered the menus and gave the brothers a quick smile. "You got it, boys." She gave Dean a wink and hurried back to the counter.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how easily his brother could manipulate waitresses. Even older, experienced women like Darla responded to his brother's charms. Of course, it always meant they had great service, so it was one of Dean's quirks that Sam had never actually complained about.

"So," Dean settled back into the corner of the booth, bringing his left leg up onto the cushioned seat. "How does a guy doing night maneuvers in a snow storm with a spirit end up cashing in at home in his own bed?"

Sam shrugged and leaned across the aisle, snagging a newspaper from the counter. "You're sure it was the same guy?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"It was the same guy, Sam."

"Okay," Sam found a story on page two, folding the paper and smoothing it down onto the table. "Lawrence Cassidy. His wife called 911 around ten o'clock last night –"

"What time did we see them in the clearing?"

Sam pursed his lips and took a deep breath. "I'm not sure. We got to the motel around eleven, so it could've been sometime around ten." He scratched his head. "How could we have seen him a mile out of town at the same time paramedics were working on him in town?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't think what we saw was actually there. Remember how they just faded away?"

Sam nodded. "Okay. But that doesn't explain how or why he was in two places at once. What kind of spirit can do that?"

"I don't know. But it looks like we're not going anywhere until later this afternoon. Maybe you can scare up internet access somewhere and see what you can dig up."

Darla appeared with their order and placed the plates down on the table before giving them another quick smile and hurrying away.

"And just what are you going to be doing while I'm doing all this digging?"

Dean just smiled as he shoved a crisp piece of bacon into his mouth. "I'm gonna be doing some digging of my own."

The FBI badge was enough to get him access to the coroner files on the Cassidy death. As far as the ME was concerned, the man had been the victim of a condition known as 'sleep paralysis'. As the white haired doctor explained, the condition causes the victim to freeze while sleeping. As the muscles froze, the lungs to ceased functioning for a short time. If the sleeper doesn't come out of the paralysis, they could suffocate – which is what, the doctor presumed, caused the subsequent death of Lawrence Cassidy.

Although the ME's explanation was plausible, the man was working without the knowledge that the man on his autopsy table had been in a snow covered clearing with a being that was not of this world. Dean had thanked him, giving him an e-mail address and asking him to forward his final report as soon as he could.

The ME was curious as to why the FBI would be interested in a death that was not the least bit suspicious, but Dean was able to pacify the man by telling him it was simply a possible lead in a larger, ongoing case. The doctor had seemed satisfied, obviously more than happy to help without having to delve too deeply into a Federal investigation.

Dean had gotten all the information from the ME and made his way back to the motel just as his cell phone rang. Pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed, he frowned at the phone as the unfamiliar number flashed on the small screen,

"Hello?"

"Mr. Freeley? This is Andy over at the Pit Stop. I understand you had a bit of a problem out on Highway 10 last night?"

Dean smiled, relieved to finally be able to retrieve his baby. He wasn't about to tell Sam, but the separation anxiety was starting to really get on his nerves. "Yeah, Andy. We skidded of the road a couple miles west of the turnoff. I don't think there was any damage, she's just stuck ass deep in a ton of snow."

Andy chuckled at the description. "We should be able to get a line on the front axle, then. What's the make and model?"

"Chevy Impala," Dean responded. "A '67."

He couldn't suppress a grin at the low whistle that came through the line. "Impressive wheels. V8?

"Yep. Had to rebuild her after she was leveled by a semi, but she's family so…"

"Say no more," Andy interrupted. "I've got one of those myself. I suppose you'll want to tag along?"

Dean couldn't help but like the man already. "If you don't mind."

"Nope. Mikey here says you're staying at the Perham Palms."

Dean laughed at the oddly inappropriate name of their current residence. "Yep. Just soaking up the sun."

Andy returned the laugh. "Don't forget the sunscreen. The glare off the snow can really burn. I can swing by and pick you up in, say, thirty minutes?"

"Sounds good. Room 17." Disconnecting the call, Dean scrolled down to Sam's number. After a quick conference and a promise to drive safely, he pocketed the phone and checked the parking lot for any sign of Andy's truck, eager to rescue his damsel in distress.

By the time Dean returned to the Perham Palms, Sam was back from his research trip to the town library – the only place he had been able to find internet access – and shuffling through printed pages spaced out around the tabletop. He breathed a sigh of relief when Dean stomped through the doorway and tossed him the computer bag. Sam wasted no time pulling the laptop from the bag and setting it up on the table as his brother closed the door and rubbed his hands together, to try to get some kind of circulation flowing through the frozen digits.

"I really, really hate snow," he remarked, invoking a low chuckle from his Sam.

"I take it you got the car out okay?" Sam turned in his chair, watching as the older hunter peeled off the outer coat and two layers of shirts he had on over his t-shirt. He hadn't been sure what to expect from his brother, knowing how meticulous he was about the Impala. If the accident had caused damage, Dean would be very difficult to live with until he could find a way to repair it. From the calm look on Dean's face, Sam surmised that whatever damage there had been was minimal.

That was one catastrophe avoided.

"Doesn't look like there was any real damage," Dean confirmed. "Muffler was knocked loose, but Andy had a bracket so we were able to fix it up."

"Andy?"

Dean nodded, dropping onto the edge of the bed to untie his boots. "Yeah, the guy that owns the garage. Nice guy. Has a '64 GTO in the shop he's been rebuilding."

Sam grinned at the light tone of his brother's voice. "You two do some muscle car bonding?"

Dean returned the grin. "A guy's gotta have some fun, Sammy." He tossed his boots back toward the door and nodded to the laptop. "Speaking of which, you find anything interesting on your little quest, Geek boy?"

"Actually," Sam returned his attention to the laptop. "I did."

"That's my little Nerd."

Sam ignored the comment and continued. "According to the local obits, there have been nine other similar deaths of local businessmen in and around Perham in the last year. One per month. All of them died in their sleep and were declared either natural deaths or accidents."

Dean shrugged. "That's odd."

Sam nodded. "What really gets weird is that, according to your coroner friend's report on Lawrence Cassidy, he was on a drug called Clonazepam for his condition."

"The sleep paralysis thing," Dean confirmed. "Don't tell me. All other dead dudes had the same condition."

Sam shrugged. "There was mention of two others that suffered from the condition and were on medication, but I didn't have access to the medical records so it's only a theory, but I'm guessing since they all died in their sleep...it's possible."

Dean sighed and let his body fall back against the mattress. "Which is awesome if we were on CSI and looking for a serial killer who's drugging his victims. What it doesn't do is explain how a guy could die at his house and simultaneously appear with a freaky, glowy chick miles away in a frozen tundra."

"I'm pretty sure that's Green Bay, Dean, not Minnesota."

"Huh?"

Sam waved a hand. "Never mind."

"Anyway," Dean sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes at his brother's attempt at football humor. "The question remains…"

"What exactly was the freaky, glowy chick?" Sam finished for him.

"Bingo."

Sam turned to his piles of printed papers. "I may have an answer for you."

Dean's eyebrows rose as he lifted his head from the mattress and tilted it toward his brother, green eyes wide in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Sam grinned smugly. "Unlike some people, I didn't waste my afternoon bonding with grease-monkey's over scraps of metal that were forged before I was born."

Dean pushed himself off the bed and reached out a hand to slap his brother on the back of his head. "Watch your mouth, Heathen," he rebuked before pointing toward the laptop. "What did you find?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Sam glared at his brother for a moment before launching into what Dean referred to as 'college boy lecture mode'. "After I read the coroner's report, I did a little research into sleep paralysis and ran across this." He pulled a sheet of paper from one of the piles and handed it to Dean. "Apparently, the condition goes back centuries and almost every culture has some type of lore attached to the phenomena. Some African-American cultures refer to it as 'the devil riding your back'."

"That sounds ominous."

Sam snorted a laugh through his nose and nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it. There are legends about devils and spirits sitting on peoples chests and literally sucking the life out of them in hundreds of cultures, but this one caught my eye." He grabbed the sheet back from his brother and pointed to a paragraph about halfway down that was highlighted in yellow marker.

"Yuki no onna?" Dean drawled the foreign words out slowly.

"Uh huh. It's also referred to as a Koorime. In Japanese it means 'ice maiden.'" Sam looked up from the page and faced his brother. "According to the website I found, the Japanese culture refers to sleep paralysis as kanashibari. I actually found that name used in more than one of the academic papers about the condition."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, his brow furrowed in an attempt to follow his brother's train of thought. "So this Yoko Ono thing is… what? A spirit?"

Sam shook his head forcefully. "A demon."

For some reason, Dean wasn't really surprised. "And nobody connected the victims?"

"They are all listed under different causes of death – heart failure, asphyxiation, most are listed as natural causes. Like I said, I was only able to check a few, but… it fits."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "And this all started about ten months ago?

Sam nodded, having already done the math. "Which was right about the time we opened the Devil's Gate."

Dean sighed. "You know, I'm really getting tired of taking the blame for that one. I mean, we actually closed the gate, right? Well, Bobby and Ellen did while we were busy creating one hell of a diversion by killing that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch. Your buddy Jake was the one who actually opened the damn thing, okay? So let's stop taking the heat for something we tried our damnedest to stop. Agreed?""

Sam stared at his brother for a moment before nodding slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted in a soft smile. "Agreed."

"Good." Dean nodded once with determination. "Now what about this kimono ice maiden bitch?"

Sam turned back to the printouts, his eyes searching the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here it is. The Koorime is part of the Youkai, a race of vampiric female demons who lure men into an icy domain to either feed or mate with them." He shuddered at the memory of the two figures in the clearing. "I guess it decided to use Cassidy for supper rather than… you know."

Dean chuckled. "Unless that was its idea of foreplay."

Sam grimaced and shuddered again, eliciting a laugh from his brother.

"So how do we kill it?"

Dean shrugged and ran a hand over his face. "If we had the Colt –"

"Which is somewhere in Minneapolis," Sam interjected.

" – which is _presumably_ somewhere in Minneapolis," Dean corrected. "But we don't, so I guess all we have is Holy water and that trusty old exorcism you seemed to have committed to memory in that filing cabinet of a brain of yours." Dean squinted his eyes and pursed his lips in thought. "When exactly did you manage to memorize that anyway?"

Sam swallowed and breathed out slowly through his nose. "In Florida," he admitted. "I had a lot of time after…."

Dean watched his brother's eyes drop to his hands, frowning as Sam's expression momentarily darkened. "Okay," he drawled finally, not sure if he really wanted to know everything that had happened after the Trickster had pulled them from the time loop. Sam had explained a little bit about the months he had spent alone, his sole focus on finding the Trickster and forcing him to re-wind the clock to give him – Dean – another chance. Dean, thankfully, remembered nothing of the three months where he was dead and, he assumed, serving his sentence in Hell, but Sam apparently remembered it all.

It was something else Dean wished he could've protected his brother from.

It was something else he'd managed to fail at.

Taking a deep breath, Dean pushed himself off the bed, falling back down as his vision grayed out around the edges.

"Dean?"

He raised his hand, wiping at the light layer of moisture on his forehead, suddenly aware of the warmth of the room. He was aware of his younger brother's voice directly in front of him and he raised his head to see Sam kneeling on the floor next to the bed. "Dude, you okay?"

Dean nodded, blinking back the haze until his vision cleared. "Yeah," he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried for something a little more convincing. "Just stood up too fast." He pulled his left arm into his body as the dull throb he'd been ignoring all day began to intensify. "Probably shouldn't have helped pull the Impala from the ditch, huh?"

"With a bullet wound in your shoulder?" Sam asked sarcastically. "Probably not the smartest move."

"That's why you're the brains of this outfit, Sammy."

"Well, as the brains, I suggest you lie down for a while before you fall over. I can go get us something to eat, then we can figure out what to do about this demon."

Showing that he could be as smart as his brother when necessary, Dean made the decision not to argue.

TBC

_Note to one anonymous reviewer: I have no problem with anyone getting on a soap box – even if your opinion differs from mine, but please be courageous enough not to do it under the guise of anonymity. That, like your 'means justifies the end' argument, kind of defeats the purpose._


	4. Chapter 4

Thin Ice of a New Day

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

**Chapter 4**

Sam returned to the same diner, took a seat at the counter and placed his order with Darla's afternoon replacement. Instead of waiting inside the diner, he decided to make a trip to the pharmacy across the narrow main street and replace some of their dwindling medical supplies. He hadn't missed the raised temperature of his brother's skin as he'd helped him lie down on the motel bed, nor had he missed the fact that Dean had agreed to take a nap in the middle of the day with no argument.

That alone told him how depleted his brother's reserves were at the moment.

As he entered the small drug store and shook the slushy snow from his boots, he grabbed a basket from the stack near the counter and proceeded to the first aid aisle, determined to get enough supplies to re-stock their first aid kit as well as enough medication to help his brother fight off the fever he'd managed to develop. Sam didn't think they'd need prescription antibiotics – the last time he'd checked, the bullet wound hadn't been infected. He was pretty sure his older brother's current state was due to the long trek through the cold coupled with lowered resistance due to the trauma his body had been through.

He grabbed a large bottle of extra strength Tylenol and tossed it into the basket along with the packages of sterile gauze pads, large tube of Neosporin and roll of medical tape. His attention focused on scanning the shelves for antiseptic wipes, he was surprised when he backed into another person.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized as he turned, reaching an arm out to stop the young woman from loosing her balance. A quick flash of Nancy, the receptionist from the Colorado sheriff's office flashed through his mind, but the memory was fleeting and on second look, the young woman in front of him only slightly resembled the young virgin.

"No problem," the woman responded, a friendly smile on her face. She raised a hand to brush a stray of long brown hair from her face. "It was my fault," she shrugged shyly. "I wasn't really looking where I was going."

Sam nodded, returning the smile. "At least there was no blood spilled, right?".

The girl bobbed her head in agreement. "But, at least we would have been in the right place." She gestured to the shelves filled with first aid supplies, her eyebrows raised as she tried to hide her embarrassment.

Sam laughed in return. "Good point." He switched the basket to his left hand and held out his right in greeting. "Hi, I'm Sam."

"Kara." The girl took his hand and shook it firmly. She motioned toward the basket. "Stocking up?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. My brother, uh, cut himself up pretty bad the other day. Just trying to stay ahead of the demand."

Kara's eyes widened in concern. "Oh, I hope he's okay."

"Um, yeah," Sam assured her. "He'll be fine." His eyes finally noticed the long white smock she was wearing. "Do you work here?"

"Yeah. I'm an assistant to Mr. Rowland, the pharmacist." She crooked a thumb behind her toward the pharmacy counter. "I'm actually more of a glorified check-out clerk, but Assistant Pharmacist sounds so much more impressive." She grinned at Sam, tilting her head as she studied him. "I don't remember seeing you in here before. Are you new in town?"

"Yeah, I mean no. I'm staying at the Perham Palms. My brother and I kind of had a little accident a few miles out of town. Our car ended up in the ditch and we ended up here."

"Is that how your brother hurt himself?"

Sam shook his head. "Sort of." As much as he was enjoying Kara's company, he knew he needed to get back to the diner and then the motel to check on Dean. "I have to go," he backed up toward the check out and placed the basket on the counter. "It was really nice meeting you."

Kara's smile faded a bit. "Uh, yeah. You too. I hope I see you again."

Sam quickly paid the cashier and grabbed the plastic bag she'd placed his supplies into. "Me, too." He gave Kara a nod and a smile as he back out the door. "Bye."

"Bye, Sam." Kara replied, her eyes watching his form as he trudged his way back across the road and disappeared into the diner.

Sam had been pleased to find his brother still asleep when he'd returned to the motel room. Reaching across from the doorway, he carefully laid the bags from the pharmacy and the diner on the small table and shrugged out of his coat. He'd turned up the heat before he'd left in an attempt to make things a little more comfortable for Dean and the warmth was a welcome change from the frigid temperature outside.

Toeing off his boots, he crossed the small space to the bed, noting the slight flush across his brother's cheeks. A light hand on his forehead told Sam that, while still warm, the older man's temperature hadn't climbed in his absence and he was still resting comfortably.

He dug the Tylenol from the bag and shook out three gel capsules from the bottle. He took a seat on the edge of Dean's bed and placed a hand on his brother's hip, giving it a gently shake.

"Hey, Dean. Wake up, food's here."

Dean mumbled and turned his face into the pillow.

"Hey. Man, come on. At least wake up enough to take some pills."

Another shake earned him weak glare, but served its purpose.

"Here," Sam held out the pills which his brother took and popped into his mouth. He washed them down with a swallow of water from the already open bottle on the nightstand between the beds before settling back down under the blankets.

"You hungry?"

Dean shook his head. "Just tired," he mumbled. "Go away."

Sam chuckled and shook his head, but complied. His brother wasn't known as the most gracious patient in the world. Whenever he was sick or hurt, he simply wanted to be left alone and Sam had learned the hard way that leaving Dean alone to sleep it off was usually the best for everyone concerned. If Dean needed something, he'd let him know – usually loudly and insistently. But for now, he'd just let his brother rest. He'd worry about checking the wound later.

After finishing his soup and sandwich, Sam packed the rest of the food into the small refrigerator provided in the room in case Dean was hungry when he woke up. Without internet access, Sam couldn't do anything more than go over the information he had found at the library earlier, so he started to go through the bios he had on each victim, making notations on a pad in an effort to find some kind of pattern to help him connect the men and identify why they were chosen by this demon.

After a few hours, Sam leaned back in his chair and rolled his head, sighing in relief as the vertebrae cracked into place and the muscles eased their tension. Pulling his attention from his notes, he frowned at the silence that had overtaken the room. There was no noise from the road outside, which was not that surprising considering the driving conditions, the constant hum of the furnace was conspicuously absent as was the familiar rhythmic sound of –

Sam jumped from the chair, knocking it over in his haste to get to his brother.

It had only taken a moment for him to realize that the sound he was missing was the sound of his brother breathing. As he approached the bed, Sam felt a sudden shill and the hairs on his arms stood up. He threw himself to his knees next to the bed and grabbed his brother's shoulders, giving them a rough shake in spite of the wound he knew was there.

"Dean!" His fingers fumbled at his brother's neck, finding a quick pulse beating under the skin. He lowered his ear to the older man's mouth but could make out no signs of breath. "Damnit, Dean! Wake up!"

A sudden force pushed him back, away from the bed and he stumbled back against the door. His own breath was coming in rapid pants as he searched the room, his eyes finding nothing but his brother's still form.

"No way!" he whispered. Sam dove toward the weapons bag, fumbling around inside until he found what he'd been looking for. Pulling his arm out, he quickly unscrewed the cap on the silver flask and turned, forcibly splashing the water across the area directly above his brother. "You can't have him!" Sam shouted as the holy water hit something invisible yet seemingly corporeal, steam rising from thin air as the demonic presence was scalded by the blessed liquid.

A loud howl filled the small room as the demon appeared momentarily before completely disappearing through the ceiling. As soon as the entity was gone, Dean gasped, sucking in a choked breath, his body contorting as if in pain.

"Easy," Sam hurried to his brother's side, supporting him as his body arched in an attempt to get some much needed air into his starving lungs. "Just breathe, man. I've got ya, I've got ya."

After a few moments, Dean's breathing evened out and Sam lowered him back to the mattress, his eyes locked onto his brother's very confused green ones.

"What the hell?" Dean rasped out. He was shivering and Sam pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders.

"Take it easy," Sam instructed, taking a deep breath himself in an effort to get his own heart to slow to a normal pace. "It's okay. You're okay. Just breathe."

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, attempting to comply with his brother's instructions. After a few more minutes, he was able to breathe without gasping and opened his eyes to search his brother's face. "What was that?" he asked, his voice raspy.

Sam could only shake his head. "Our demon. I guess it decided it didn't want us interfering in its little playground."

"Damn," Dean whispered.

His shivering was increasing and Sam frowned as he touched his brother's cheek. "Shit, Dean, you're freezing." Sam reached across the bed and grabbed the comforter from his own, placing it across his brother and tucking in the sides to hold him what little warmth had. "Less than two hours ago you were running a fever, and now you feel like—"

"A popsicle," Dean interjected with a grin. "Dude, why am I wet?"

Sam couldn't help but return the grin. "Maybe you're melting." He knew the attention was hard for Dean to accept and it was a natural reaction for the older man to deflect any type of concern.

At Dean's look of surprise, Sam chuckled. "Holy water," he explained. "The demon was invisible, but I figured it had to be there since you stopped breathing and, I don't know, I just felt it was there, so…" he made a tossing motion with his hand and shrugged.

Dean nodded slowly as he listened to his brother's explanation. "Good thinking." He settled under the blankets and looked back at his brother. "So you saw it?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Not until after I doused it. It was invisible. After I hit it with the Holy water, it kind of took shape – sort of like a flimsy version of what we saw in the clearing yesterday. Then it just vanished."

Dean frowned as memories began to clarify. "The clearing…. I was in the clearing…"

Sam sat back, watching his brother intently. "Right then? With the demon?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it was just like what we saw." He returned his attention to Sam. "It was like I was dreaming or something, but I was there, Sam. I know I was there."

"Which would explain why you felt like a popsicle."

Dean just shrugged.

"Which us brings us back to how the hell do we find this thing before it comes back to finish what it started?"

"Demons don't just float around as mist, Sammy. They have to possess someone. If we can figure out who that is….."

Sam pushed himself up from the bed. "We can trap it. That's gonna be a piece of cake, right?" His sarcasm wasn't lost on the older man, who could only shrug in response. He watched as his brother crossed to one of the duffle bags and pulled out a thick book and a large black permanent marker before turning back toward the bed with a grin. "But in the meantime, I say we take a few precautions."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Thin Ice of a New Day

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

**Chapter 5**

Without access to an internet link, it was proving difficult to dig up information on the ten victims. It occurred to Dean that they had become a little too dependent on the World Wide Web for research. He could remember the good old days when Dad would sit for hours, sifting through newspapers and, eventually, he and Sam helping him sort through miles of microfiche in the dank, dark basements of public libraries and newspaper offices. It was a time he remembered fondly – despite the eyestrain and tedious boredom of the research – simply because his family had been together… whole.

Of course, now it was just the two of them and being able to pull up whatever information they needed at the touch of a keyboard had become familiar as well as convenient. Not having that reserve meant they had to go back to the tried and true methods of their youth; the things their dad taught them coming back like falling off a bike.

Dean loved breaking and entering. Despite not having an audience to share the experience with, the simple process of trespassing on what someone had thought safe and protected from outside intrusion sent an illicit tingle up his spine. From the deft pick of the lock, to the methodical sweep of security, Dean was in his element. Sam had always frowned about how much fun his brother had when breaking into any building that held information they might need for a job. The younger brother would always lobby for the use of lawful measures to gain information, but when push came to shove, he relented, knowing that some gains were only gotten under dark of night.

It was the nature of the game.

And Dean had always excelled at the game.

Okay, that above all else probably spoke plenty about his damaged psyche, but it wasn't like he was gonna be around long enough to work it out in group therapy or anything. No, Dean Winchester was an outlaw in the purest sense of the word – a label that brought a haughty smile to his face.

It took less than a minute for him to pick the lock on the back entrance of the pharmacy. They'd assumed a place that stocked drugs would have some sort of alarm system, and Sam was pretty sure he'd spotted a control panel when he'd been there earlier that day. Pausing a moment to throw his little brother a look of approval, Dean set about studying the panel, quickly deciphering the mechanism and rendering it ineffective within moments.

He turned and gave Sam a cocky grin, receiving the expected eye roll and shake of the shaggy head in response. Apparently, the simple pleasures in life remained out of his little brother's grasp.

Sam tilted his head toward the back of the store and led the way toward the raised counter of the pharmacy department. Luckily, the computer was dormant but active, and a simple push of the space bar brought the screen to life.

"Ya gotta love small town hospitality," Dean commented. He stood back, allowing Sam to familiarize himself with the software, softly grunting in admiration as the younger man was able to call up the records within minutes.

"Well," Sam whispered after flashing through a few of the screens. "All of the victims are in the database, so they all got prescriptions filled here at one time or another."

"But," Dean could sense there was more spinning around in the hard drive his brother called a brain.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But, they were all on different medication for different conditions." He shrugged. "I don't recognize half of these prescriptions, so it's conceivable that they could all cause drowsiness which would make them susceptible to the demon." He turned to look at his brother. "It would also make it look as if they just died in their sleep. Maybe that's all the demon needs – to find victims that their deaths would seem like a natural occurrence from a pre-existing condition."

Dean slowly nodded his agreement. "So we have a demon who actually plots its attacks?"

Sam shrugged again. "It wanted to stay out of hell, draw as little attention to itself as possible. It adapted."

"Or it watched too many episodes of Law & Order."

"Whatever. At least we can assume that the demon is possessing someone with access to these records."

"Okay, so we need to find a list of employees. How many people can there be in a small place like this?"

Sam stiffened suddenly.

"What?"

The younger man shook his head. "How did it know how to find us to attack you?" His eyes widened as he ran an unwelcome scenario through his head. "It saw us in the clearing, but it wouldn't have known we were still around town unless…"

Dean waited, finally prodding his brother whose face had taken on a lightly sickened expression. "Unless what?"

Sam sighed, focusing his attention on the pharmacist photos on the wall directly to the side of the counter. "Unless one of us told it."

"Unless one of us told it," Dean mumbled as he pulled his coat tighter around his neck. They'd found Kara's address easily enough from the computer files and had decided that stopping by in the middle of the night was only a bad idea if the new apple of his brother's somewhat dubious eye turned out to _not_ be possessed by an ancient oriental soul sucking demon.

And, hey, what were the odds of that?

"Lights are on," Sam remarked when they'd pulled up to the two-story duplex.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean snarked, not incredibly thrilled to be sitting in the freezing cold, staring at an old house, waiting to see if the demon made any kind of move.

Sam sighed, counting to ten as he attempted to reign in his patience. "Dean, you're the one who insisted we check Kara out."

"Only because your track record with women seems to drift toward the demonically possessed type."

"That's not fair –"

"Meg, Madison, the Crossroads Demon," Dean counted them off on his fingers as he ran through the list.

"Hey! Madison was a werewolf," Sam pointed out. "And The Crossroads Demon was yours, I just wasted the bitch 'cause she got on my nerves." He exchanged a glare with his brother, his anger turning to annoyance as he noticed the slight smirk on Dean's face. "Jerk," he muttered as he settled back into the cold leather seat, his gaze focused intently on the house.

"Bitch," Dean responded automatically, the familiar exchange settling both men.

"Besides," Sam continued after a few moments of silence. "If this demon is going to come after you again, it would be nice to know what we're dealing with."

Dean shrugged and turned his attention to the cold scene outside the Impala. "If it's gonna come after me, why the hell don't we just wait for it in the nice warm motel room instead of freezing our asses off sitting out here like some creepy stalkers?"

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand across his cheek. "Because it doesn't seem to materialize corporeally when it goes after its victim. It must leave whomever it's possessing in order to attack."

Dean nodded, and hunched his shoulders, wincing as the bullet wound flared. "So, we're just gonna sit here and wait for it to what? Float away from this chick? Then what, Einstein? It's pretty hard to exorcise a free-floating demon. Hell we're not even sure she's the one it's possessing!"

"I know," Sam responded, his frustration obvious. "I haven't really figured that part out yet."

Dean chuckled and shook his head at his younger brother's obvious discomfort. "Look, Romeo, why don't you just go knock on her door and toss some Holy water on her? If she flinches, we know she's possessed."

"And if she doesn't?"

Dean grinned. "Then you'll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

Sam huffed, but couldn't fault his brother's logic. Logic dictated that the demon was choosing its victims from the medical files in order to remain undetected, and Kara was the only other person besides the pharmacist himself who had easy access to those records. Unfortunately, their lives hardly ever followed a sense of logic.

But, Dean was right. They could sit here all night, wasting their time spying on what could turn out to be an innocent girl, or they could quickly determine whether she was involved and eliminate the possibility or the problem. Either way, he was glad they weren't going to stick around.

As he approached the house, he slowed his step, noticing the outside door standing slightly ajar. He silently pulled his firearm from the back of his jeans, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to signal his brother. The familiar creak of the Impala's door echoed loudly in the still night air as Dean immediately sensed his brother's uneasiness and quickly joined him in the shadows near the doorway.

Without words, Sam signaled for Dean to cover him as he slowly eased the door open and leaned inside, his weapon fanning across the interior of the dimly lit room. A quick nod to indicate all clear and bother men stepped silently into the front room. The house was quiet, their soft breathing and the faint creak from Dean's leather jacket the only sounds within the four walls. A soft light glowed from the stairway on the opposite side of the doorway and both men noiselessly crossed the room to the base of the stairs.

As a well-choreographed team, they ascended the stairway, each coming to rest against an opposite wall at the top. The light was spilling from a doorway to Sam's right, across from Dean's position. Leveling his pistol at the doorway, Dean indicated his readiness. Swallowing once, Sam took a deep breath and leaned forward, edging the door open.

Dean's eyes widened as the scene came into view. A pretty, dark-haired girl was lying on the bed. Fully clothed, she was obviously asleep, prone on her stomach, her back rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Her face was turned toward the door across the bottom end of the bed, one lithe arm draped down, brushing the floor.

"Okay," he whispered. "At least she's a hot demon."

Sam frowned and pushed past his brother, moving to Kara's side and carefully feeling for a pulse. A strong, steady beat brought a sigh of relief.

"She's alive."

Dean nodded. "People usually are when they're breathing."

Sam glared at him before tucking his gun back into his belt and returning his attention to Kara. Shaking her lightly, he called her name, shifting back as she woke with a sudden scream. At the sight of an unexpected man I her bedroom, she scrambled backwards, blinking against the light.

"What the hell –" she squinted through sleepy eyes at the man crouched at the foot of her bed, her forehead creasing as recognition took hold. "Sam?"

"Kara," Sam's voice was pitched a bit higher than normal as he stumbled backward awkwardly. "Um, uh we were just…" he looked to his brother for help, but Dean simply shrugged, leaning against the door jam as he deftly tucked his own weapon under his jacket.

Kara had crawled back across the bed, standing on the other side, warily eyeing the two intruders. "Sam, what are you doing in my house?"

Sam held his hands up in a universal gesture of assurance. "It's not what you think, Kara…"

Her eyebrows rose as she nodded slowly. "And what exactly is it that you think I think?"

Sam's mouth opened, gaping like a fish out of water as he fumbled for some type of explanation to assure the young woman that they meant her no harm. Of course, if she was possessed by a demon, they kind of_ did_ mean her harm, but that was needlessly confusing the issue right at the moment and he was having quite enough trouble trying to figure out how to control the situation as it was.

Dean, who had been enjoying his brother's obvious discomfort, pushed himself upright and decided to jump to his brother's aid.

"Look, Kara?" At the girl's nod, he continued. "My brother and I were driving by and we noticed your front door open. We knocked but…" he tilted his head and flashed her a charming smile. "We just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

She was staring at them, weighing Dean's words. "You just roam around in the middle of the night saving innocent people from higher heating bills?"

Dean chuckled and reached for his fake FBI identification. "Actually, we just look for things that seem suspicious." He flashed the badge, relieved to see it have the desired effect of relaxing the girl. "Open doors in the middle of winter tend to fall into that category."

Kara laughed nervously as she made her way around the bed, approaching the two men in relief. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought…" She didn't finish the thought as both men nodded their understanding.

"We didn't mean to scare you," Sam apologized. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Kara smiled, her eyes crinkling as she looked up at Sam. "I'm fine." She looked down as she flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "This isn't exactly how I envisioned out next meeting."

Sam smiled in return, shifting nervously as he felt himself blush. "Me either." He was well aware of his brother standing behind him and flushed even more as he imagined the mileage Dean would get out the encounter. "We'll get out of your way. I'm really sorry we scared you."

Kara glanced at Dean before returning her eyes to Sam. "It's okay. I'm sure I'll find a way for you to make it up to me."

"Well that was awkward." Dean carefully stepped over the line of salt they had laid across the threshold of the door, moving sluggishly toward the bed so his brother could follow him into the room. He shrugged his right arm out of his jacket, then slowly peeled the heavy fabric off his left, moving the injured arm as little as possible. He was way too tired and sore to try hiding the obvious show of pain from his brother, not bothering to look to see if Sam had noticed before dropping the jacket onto the floor and easing down into the edge of the bed.

"You okay?"

Dean managed a grin at the expected inquiry. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Sure you are." Also expected. Dean chalked another line in his mind's eye – _two for two._

He scooted back on the bed, lowering himself to his side and pulled his feet up on the mattress. He knew his boots were probably dripping snow onto the comforter, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Battling the constant throbbing in his shoulder had worn down his energy reserves and all he wanted to do now was sleep for a few hours and give those reserves a chance to re-energize.

"Just give me a couple hours, Sammy." His voice was soft and the words slurred as sleep began to take him. "We'll check out the other employees after I get a little…."

Sam smiled as his brother's voice drifted off. As embarrassing as it had been to be caught breaking into Kara's place, the humiliation he felt and the dread over how his brother would harass him concerning his awkward handling of the situation had been quickly replaced with concern when he noticed Dean's pale face and the light sheen of sweat covering his brother's skin.

It had been little more than 48 hours since the demon's bullet had torn a hole through Dean's shoulder and Sam could sympathize with the pain a wound like that could cause. So, even though they had the pharmacist and four other employees to check out, Sam had insisted they head back to the motel room so that he could check his brother's shoulder and the older man could get a few hours rest.

The fact that Dean had simply agreed only confirmed to Sam that it was the right move.

Sam slid out of his own coat, picked his brother's up from the floor where it had been deposited and tossed both garments over the chair near the door. Lifting the collar of the plaid over shirt Dean had thrown on earlier, Sam was relieved to see no blood staining the bandage covering the bullet wound. Although Dean's skin was a bit warm to the touch, Sam was reasonably sure that it was simply because the idiot had pushed himself to his limits and not due to an infection.

Deciding to let him sleep instead of prodding an already painful wound, Sam gently pulled his brother's boots and tossed them back toward the door. His concern for his brother had taken position front and center in his mind, so he didn't notice as the heel of Dean's heavy workboot scuffed the thin white line of salt at the edge of the doorframe.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Thin Ice of a New Day

**Thin Ice of a New Day**

**Chapter 6**

Dean was freezing.

Without opening his eyes, he knew he was no longer in the safety of the motel room. He could feel the cold wind ripping along his exposed skin, the tail of his shirt, flapping in the icy air.

Forcing his eyes open, he took in his surroundings. The worn yet comfortable furnishings of the Perham Palms motel room were no longer visible, replaced with the dark shadows of snow-covered trees surrounding the familiar clearing. The moonlight played through the patchy clouds in the night sky, illuminating the snowy ground to an almost surreal luminescence.

Which made perfect sense, since Dean was pretty damn sure he wasn't really here.

Turning slowly, he took a step back into the very real feeling snow. Hw noticed with a detached part of his mind that he wasn't wearing shoes, and the socks that were the only barrier between him and the cold, wet ground, were already soaked.

But what was a little frostbite when you were looking into the bright blue eyes of a demon intent on sucking out your life?

The demon floated directly in front of him, not touching the frozen ground. The same little part of Dean's brain that had registered the no-shoe thing was completely disgusted with the extreme injustice of the situation.

"Fancy meeting you here," he took another step back, but was halted by a strange vibrating force, which began to pull on his chest. "Okay, so you're the type who wants to lead." Dean held both hands out to his side. "So, it's your party, Yoko. What's the first number?"

The demon floated closer, its glowing robes and hair rippling as if under water. "_You do not fear me."_

The demon's voice was more of an itch in Dean's mind rather than an actual sound, which notched the hunter's annoyance level up another level.

"It takes a lot more than a magic act and a good light show to scare me, sweetheart."

Truthfully, Dean was scared. Not because he was facing a demon that had tricks they had never encountered before – that sort of came with the job. After all, hunting was more of a learn-as-you-go kind of profession and that had always worked well for him. There was always something new and unexpected popping up and a good hunter knew to be prepared for anything.

The real reason for Dean's trepidation was that while he was here, dancing with this ice bitch, Sam was back in the room, hopefully noticing that his older brother was currently not breathing and turning a lovely shade of blue. Dean had drifted off almost as soon as he'd laid down and had no idea whether his brother had decided to catch a few hours like him or if he had opted to re-examine the information he had gathered earlier at the library. When Sam got involved in research, it was extremely hard to tear the younger man's attention away. He'd always been that way, which is probably why he'd excelled in school. If his mind caught wind of a problem, it wouldn't rest until he'd solved it. Dean had resorted to insults and throwing projectiles to get his little brother's attention when they were kids and his methods hadn't really changed much since then.

He could only hope that Sam would notice he was in trouble before it was too late.

Sam stretched, wincing as the muscles in his lower back protested the movement. He shifted the pad of paper to the far side of the table, currently covered by a large road map of the city of Perham. He'd managed to find the addresses for all the employees of the pharmacy and mapped out a route for them to take which would allow them to check each of them for possible possession. Of course, after the fiasco at Kara's, they would simply stick to ringing the bell and greeting the people with a simple 'Good morning, Christo.'

God, Dean was never going to let him live this one down.

It had been uncomfortably obvious that Kara had been attracted to him. What was worse was that it had been even more embarrassingly obvious that Sam shared the attraction. And he was entirely sure that his brother, despite his condition, had picked up the signals loud and clear.

Of course, there was no place for any kind of romantic notions when they were on a job. And with Dean's deal looming, as well as the demon army becoming more and more aggressive, Sam couldn't afford to let his guard down right now. He needed to stay focused on what was important.

Maybe after all this was over he could –

Who the hell was he kidding? Even if…when… they found a way to save Dean, the demons were becoming stronger, more disciplined. They'd proven that back at the sheriff's station when they had banded together to come after him and Dean out in the open. They were unifying and that couldn't be considered a positive sign for the good guys.

He caught something in the corner of his eye and turned quickly toward his brother. Dean still lay on the bed where he'd fallen after their trip to Kara's. Sam had rolled him onto his back and clicked off the bedside lamp to give his brother some privacy. Now Sam squinted through the darkness, his eyes watching for the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest.

It didn't come.

"Dean!"

The demon floated closer, whatever force it was emitting effectively paralyzing Dean enough to stop him from moving away. Without pulling his eyes from the glowing blue orbs of the demon, Dean slowly forced his hand around to his back pocket, almost audibly sighing when he felt the solid weight of the silver flask.

"Hate to tell ya, honey, but I'm already spoken for." The heavy force of the demon was making moving difficult as if under water. If he could just get the lid twisted off the flask….

"_Your soul is spoken for, Hunter. I require something different."_

Dean grinned. "I'm sure you do." As the top of the flask fell away, he steeled himself to move against the demonic force slowing his body. "I've got something for you right here."

Crossing the room in two leaps, Sam dove toward the bed and caught his brother under the shoulders. He tugged the prone man from the bed, backing up as they both landed in a heap on the threadbare carpeting.

A screech from the area above the bed was followed by a sudden shift in the air and the demon suddenly became visible. The dark cloud of smoke drifted to the edge of the bed, stopping abruptly at the edge.

Sam grinned as he chanced a glance up at the ceiling, the crudely drawn Devil's Trap doing its job as it contained the demon inside its hallowed circle.

He slid back across the carpet, pulling his unresponsive brother up against his chest. Dean wasn't breathing and his lips were beginning to take on a bluish tinge, pushing Sam to wrap his arms tightly around the still chest. He began the exorcism he'd committed to memory in those long, solitary months after leaving the Mystery Spot in Florida. As the demon began to writhe, he tightened his grip around his brother, his voice picking up in volume and intensity.

He wasn't about to lose Dean again.

Dean winced at the screech emitted from the demon as the Holy water hissed through its translucent form. As the wail died, the pressure on his chest began to fade and he found he was able to take a few stumbling steps backward, increasing the distance between him and the demon. Falling to his knees as the cold began to leach what was left of his strength, Dean watched in shock as the demon began to writhe, it's form fading in and out like a faulty neon sign. In a bright flicker, the demon finally disappeared from view, the force throwing Dean backward. As he shivered on the snow-covered ground, the blackness rapidly closing in, he couldn't help the grin that lifted his lips.

"Go get her, Sammy."

Sam shouted the last words of the exorcism, throwing himself across his brother's head and torso as the black cloud rose, violently smashing against the ceiling in a flash of orange fire. After a moment, Sam chanced a look up, relieved to see the ceiling charred, but no sign of the demon in the room.

His attention was drawn to his brother as the older man suddenly gasped painfully, his eyes snapping open, his back arched as his lungs attempted to draw in the oxygen they craved.

"Easy, Dean," Sam pushed him a little higher, hoping that sitting up would make it easier to pull in air. "Easy, just breathe."

"What…the hell… think…I'm trying… to do…." Dean's voice was weak, disjointed between gasps for breath. It was a harsh and painful sound, but it was music to Sam's ears.

He smiled brightly and pulled his brother close. "Well, try harder, dude. You're sucking here, big time."

As soon as dawn broke over the crystal clear morning, the hunters were packed and ready to go. Although neither had gotten any real sleep after the demon had been destroyed, Dean had dozed in and out, wrapped in every blanket Sam could find until he'd stopped shivering uncontrollably and finally drifted off for a while.

Sam, on the other hand, had been content with sitting in the dark room, watching his brother breathe. He still didn't have a clue how he was going to save Dean from whatever demon held his contract, but he knew without a doubt that he would do whatever it took to save his brother. After almost losing him over and over, Sam couldn't see a future if he failed – for either of them.

They'd packed the Impala, deciding to stop at the diner for breakfast. Sam had wanted to say goodbye to Kara, but the pharmacy was closed, and he decided it was probably better if he just disappeared. She'd be hurt, but she'd be better off if she forgot about him. Leaving without saying goodbye would be the kindest thing he could do for her.

While waiting for his brother to return from the restroom, Dean snagged the local paper from the counter and skimmed the front page, his breath hitching as he read the small headline at he bottom right.

LOCAL GIRL DIES IN BIZARRE HOUSE FIRE

The picture next to the headline was unmistakable even without the name below in eight point bold type: Kara Winslow. The article stated that the fire was contained to the bedroom and the only damage was to the bed and victim before it somehow extinguished itself. The authorities were currently investigating the unusual circumstances of the blaze.

"Damn," Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. When was life going to cut them a break? Sam had really liked that girl. This was going to kill him.

It could have been a bizarre coincidence, Kara dying in a fire the same night they exorcized the demon back to the fiery pit, but Dean doubted it. Coincidence didn't seem to have a place in their world. They had never really gotten around to testing Kara to see if she was possessed due to how the situation unfolded. That was a mistake that would haunt them for while. She had seemed normal – but they couldn't trust even their own feelings. They needed to be vigil. They couldn't afford to get sloppy now.

Whether they would have been able to help Kara was debatable. If the demon had been around since the Devil's Gate opened, he doubted if there was anything left of the human girl anyway. Even if the demon hadn't been possessing the girl all along, Dean was convinced it had something to do with the fire that consumed her body. Either way, they hadn't been able to save her, but then they hadn't been able to save a lot of people lately…

"Ready?" Sam returned, a light smile on his face.

Deciding that some things are better left unknown, Dean quickly folded the paper and stuffed it into the back of the booth. "Yep," he responded. "Let's go find us a thief." He pushed himself up from the booth, pausing to drop a few bills from his pocket onto the table. He took a quick glance back at the newspaper tucked into the corner of the seat before taking a deep breath and following his brother out the door.

The road conditions were still less than stellar. Although the plows had managed to clear most of the snow from the highway and the dark gray of the wet pavement was at least noticeable as it snaked through the blanketed countryside, there were still many patches of packed snow and ice which made driving a challenge and forced Dean to keep the Impala well under the posted speed limits.

Almost an hour after leaving the small town of Perham, Dean slowed the big Chevy as he noticed a small vehicle sitting at a haphazard angle along the ditch on the westbound side of the highway. As they drew closer, the vehicle took on a familiar shape and Dean couldn't stop a small grin from lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said in a low voice. "Looks like out luck may just be looking up for a change, Sammy."

Crossing the deserted highway, he pulled the heavy black car onto the snow-covered shoulder about ten feet in front of the silver Mercedes. The sleek sports car was tilted down into the ditch, its right front wheel buried in the snow while its left was at least a foot off the ground. The car was resting on it's undercarriage, the tail end stuck up in the air like aristocratic snob.

Which was rather fitting, once he thought about it.

Dean threw the Impala into park without bothering to cut the engine and pushed against the driver's side door, jumping out into the cold and around the front end of the car to the snow-obscured Mercedes. The driver's window was fogged over, so Dean stuck one hand in his jacket pocket, using the other to lightly rap against the opaque glass.

"Am I glad to see you," the voice rang out as the window began to slide down. "I've been sitting here for hours. There's no cell reception and you're the first car that –" Bela Talbot looked up, her smile freezing as her eyes registered the identity of her would-be rescuer. "Dean," she recovered quickly, her overly salacious smile replaced by one a bit more lackluster. "How surprising to run into you here."

"Bela," Dean responded, his own grin nearly splitting his face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that karma has a way of coming back and biting you in the ass?"

The woman raised her eyebrows. "I would have thought that was something more up your alley."

Dean refused to be baited. "Even I have my standards, sweetheart." He yanked the door open, allowing a small avalanche of snow to tumble into the car. "Allow me." He waited for Bela to reach for his hand before stepping back, forcing the woman to pull herself ungracefully from the vehicle. He stepped back up onto the shoulder and thrust both hands into his pockets, making no move to help her up the short embankment.

Sam simply stood back, allowing his brother to take the lead. They'd both been raised to respect women, but this particular woman had pushed them way too far, and despite his inherent desires to treat women with respect, he couldn't force himself to step between Dean and his revenge.

After a few stumbled, Bela managed to make it through the foot high snow to the road, rushing the powdery white flakes from her lower legs before raising defiant eyes to the Winchesters.

"Where is it?" Dean growled, his voice no longer carrying the hint of amusement he had found at Bela's predicament.

The thief crossed her arms and returned his glare with a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Where's what, Dean? I'm afraid I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Stupid really doesn't look good on you, Bela. Where's the Colt?"

"Oh, that?" Bela asked as if only just catching onto the reason for the man's ire. She shrugged, her smile becoming slightly apologetic. "I'm afraid I don't have it."

Dean took a deep breath, his hands fisted inside his pockets. "Where. Is. The. Colt." He enunciated each word slowly, his voice transmitting danger.

Bela apparently understood that the hunter was not in any mood to be trifled with and sighed dramatically. "I lost it," she said simply.

It was Dean's turn to be surprised. "You what?"

"I was meeting with a client. I'd stashed the Colt somewhere safe, but when I returned to retrieve it, it was gone."

Dean stared at her for a moment, trying to determine whether to believe her or not. He prided himself on being a fair judge of reading people, and despite their past disagreements, he was pretty sure she was telling the truth.

"You were robbed."

Bela threw a glare toward Sam, obviously not appreciating his choice of words. "Yes," she admitted. "I was robbed. Does that make you happy?"

"No," Dean answered for the both of them. "But it does prove my point about the karma thing." He exchanged a look with Sam, neither man sure of whether to be angry at the sudden turn of events or burst out laughing at the irony. "I don't suppose you saw who took it?"

She shook her head. "Like I said. It was there when I left, it was gone when I returned."

"That's just peachy." Dean shook his head and pulled one hand from a pocket, throwing a small wave at the young woman as he started back toward the Impala. "Good luck, Bela. I'm sure someone will be by to give you a lift before the day is out."

The British thief took a step forward, her hands held out to her sides in shock. "You can't seriously be considering leaving me out here! I'll freeze to death!"

Dean calmly walked to the driver's door and opened it, leaning forward to give the woman a lopsided grin. "Oh, you're a pretty resourceful girl, Bela. I'm sure you'll figure out something." He winked at her and ducked inside the car, pulling the door closed with a loud clang.

"Sam!" Bela turned to the younger brother, who was still standing in the open passenger door of the Chevy, one arm leaning against the shiny black roof.

Sam simply shrugged before sliding into the seat and closing his own door against the cold wind. He watched Bela as she stomped her feet in frustration before turning to look at his brother. "We're not really gonna leave her out here, are we?"

Dean sighed and ducked his head for a moment before raising his eyes and taking a long, deep breath. "If there's one thing Bela Talbot is good at, Sammy. It's taking care of number one." He turned his head and looked pointedly at his brother before shifting the Impala into reverse and slowly backing it onto the highway.

As they slowly rolled past the irate woman, Sam felt a twinge of guilt at leaving her in the desolate Minnesota cold. A small muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as the drove by, but the older man kept his eyes forward, adhered to the road and Sam reminded himself that Bela had knowingly stolen the one thing that could have possibly saved his brother from Hell.

Without the Colt, they had very little change of stopping whatever demon would come for Dean not to mention the army released from the Devil's gate. And, now they had no idea where the Colt was or whether it had fallen into enemy hands.

Sam leaned back into the familiar leather seat and sighed. He couldn't help but think that the slippery ice they'd found themselves sliding across for the last year had suddenly become a whole lot thinner.

The End

_A sincere thanks to everyone who read this story. I truly appreciate all of you, whether you reviewed or not. Just seeing all the names that had this on alert really made my day!! Thank you for all the support!!_

_My apologies to anyone who likes Bela – I don't. Wonder if that came through? g_

_Sue_


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